


Veering Off Course

by TheNillaWafer



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 11/20 Spoilers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M, Murphy's Law, November spoilers, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 02:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNillaWafer/pseuds/TheNillaWafer
Summary: No matter how meticulously forged the materials are, how expertly crafted the device is or how tenderly cared for the contraption is, a chariot is nothing without the one who drives it.(AU where on 11/20, a day of heavy planning and scheming, whatever could go wrong, DID go wrong. NOVEMBER/PLOT CONFLICT SPOILERS)





	Veering Off Course

**Author's Note:**

> I've had an idea like this stuck in my head since I first got spoiled at this part in the game, and honestly, how the hell those kids pulled that HUGELY planned stunt in-game off PERFECTLY is beyond me. So, of course, here I go with a more devastatingly realistic outcome of things because I'm terrible and love to suffer. Please, suffer with me! :)
> 
> (With this finally finished, I might stray away from the onslaught of P5 fics for just a little bit, as I wish to dedicate some more free after work towards finishing the rest of the Persona series (Currently on P3! Can't wait to cry and be depressed!) But of course, y'all know I can't dump my stupid thief children alone on the street because I love them lmao. We'll see!)

The cold, winter gale sweeps across the land, nipping at the young boy’s chilled, frosty nose. Ryuji sniffles a deep, long drag through his nose and it’s not sure if it’s a combination of the dropping temperatures or his array of emotions banging and threatening to crack open his chest and spill out on the stone ground below him. 

Both, maybe both. But he won’t admit to that. 

Underdressed for the weather, his large, rough hands force themselves out of their toasty place in his sweatshirt pockets and get the vicious assault of the chilling air. It’s his punishment, he tells himself, for letting this happen; for being such an  _ effin’ idiot to think this would be okay.  _

At least if hypothermia began to set it, the clutches of Old Man Winter would be kind enough to give him back his rightful place  _ where he belongs. _

“Hm...” Ryuji closes his eyes and keeps his hands pressed to his side, forcing out the thoughts of the cold, of the past, of death and all that other trivial stuff until all he sees in his mind’s eye is black. 

An inky-black darkness that seemed limitless, as far as the eye could see. If Yusuke were here, he’d probably think of this as his canvas; a blank slate ready to paint and construct to whatever his heart’s content. But Ryuji was no artist. No matter what he tried to picture, his mind defaulted to a mere black abyss, as if it were the bottom of the ocean floor--so heavy and so thick, it could suffocate him if I tried to speak. 

It was a risk he’d have to take. 

Staring into nothingness, Ryuji steeled himself and forced out his own voice aloud. His words, usually loud and alarming were muted by the soft stillness of the quiet peace around him. “H-Hey, Akira... I-It’s me, Ryuji...” He’s still staring into an inky black nothing and the faux-blonde wonders if he’s even doing this correctly. Ryuji isn’t the kind of guy who normally partakes in this mumbo-jumbo, but yet, all too suddenly he’s here on his own accord. He knows not the motions, the practices--he figures that, really, it’s just as if he’s holding a regular conversation with the guy. 

No, if Akira can hear him, then he wouldn’t care how he presents his message. He wouldn’t care if Ryuji felt like an obnoxious sore thumb in the stillness of the lingering winter air. He could imagine Akira just laughing at him, his expression light and warm hearted against the cool blistery air and saying the two of them should just go home; maybe have some hot cocoa together, bundle up with a warm blanket and play some Sta--

He’s veering off topic again and Ryuji forces himself to  _ focus.  _ When his attention turns back straight ahead of him, there’s suddenly a movement in the shadows, a ripping in the ink’s surface. Ryuji finds himself beckoning again and suddenly he sees a hand emerge. A slender arm follows, coupled with a leg and a shoulder... another leg... a torso...  _ the face of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.  _ Ryuji feels himself grin and his chest begins to constrict and tighten as if it’s caught in relentless machine cogs that continue to turn and turn and turn. 

“A-Akira, I... I...” His face begins to grow hot, tears threatening to well up in the corners of his eyes, the grin dropping immediately to give way to desperation, “I-I’m so sorry, I-I--It shouldn’t’ve happ--” The face before him moves at the shake of a head, thick tufts of black hair tousling about like the strands of a dingy mop at the slight, soft movement. Ryuji keeps sputtering, “I... I’m gonna kill ‘em...  _ Goddamnit _ , I’ll  _ effin’ _ kill that  _ bastard _ , Akira, I  _ swear to god,  _ I’ll--”

Ryuji freezes, the ghosting touch of what  _ believes  _ is a warm, loving hand perched onto his shoulder with slender fingers seeming to curl around the muscles like an extra layer. There’s a look that settles quietly in Akira’s eyes, waiding like calm inky ocean.  _ Don’t.  _

His vision fades out, leaving Akira behind to stare suddenly at a flickering TV on display in dark of Akihabara night. A usually solemn newscaster suddenly speaks with a tone that brims with life. He hears gasps and voices ring out all around him.

Ryuji merely smiles in confidence. 

A dirty trick fitting for a thief of hearts still captivating millions. But as the mask falls, so does that smirk of his. 

_ Something’s not right.  _

On the screen, there’s a face; a face to a name and a name to a story. Suddenly, Ryuji feels as if he’s sinking, struggling for air as scenes flicker before him. Sirens. Police. Medical teams. Crowds. Crying. Laughter. Cheering. 

_ What the ‘eff?  _

It bombards the young man swiftly and silently like a gunshot-- _ how fitting, you sick shit-- _ and Ryuji feels as if he’s going to vomit once again. 

He  _ could  _ open his eyes, but that’s the last thing he wants to do. Buried underneath the nightmares, the twisted strings of fate and the calamity, Akira is still standing there waiting for his return to the inky black world around them. If he opens his eyes, it’ll melt away like snow in the newforth spring and he’ll never get that chance back. Ryuji isn’t going to dare let that slip from his grasp. 

He isn’t going to fail his boy, his  _ leader _ , again. 

Ryuji shakes his head violently and tries to physically wash away the visions of that painful night, his jaw tightening and his eyes growing wet with the force of a few leaked tears. Slowly, the darkness creeps into his vision-- _ Yes, yes, yes!-- _ and the familiar, pale face of concern greets him.  _ God, I’ve missed you, dude... _

“I’m gonna kill ‘em--” Ryuji repeats solemnly, but he’s cut off by a sudden voice that tightens his chest it sounds  _ so real. _ It’s more than a simple dismissal:  _ No.  _ It’s so prominent, so resolved and hardened and  _ real,  _ he fights to choke back a sob. “A-Are you kiddin’, dude? Eye fo’ a tooth, or whatever the hell the sayin’ is!” 

“ _ Phantom Thieves don’t kill...”  _

Akira’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest. He still drifts with that calm air of collectiveness. Ryuji, however, feels as if he’s going to burst as the seams. Misguided, charting off course without any sense of direction and ready to crash. He feels himself sink to his knees as his legs grow heavy, a throbbing pain aching in the one side--his punishment for such childish weakness, he figures. The ground below him, just as black and endless as the walls around him however they feel cold and damp. He tries to ignore the thought that he’s aware of what lies beneath the shadowless void, cobblestones kissed with the soft grazes of snowflakes. Ryuji feels the anger well up and fester inside of him, a swirling torrent just waiting to overflow. 

And it does. 

“Yeah, well,  _ this one  _ will!” Ryuji’s voice is raw and laced with pain as it tears apart his throat and claws at the bitter, chilly around him. It rings in his ears like a bell, an alarm that pierces the stillness of the atmosphere. Akira flinches just for a moment in his vision, the warmth of that hand ripped apart by the snarl as the blonde continues, “I can’t take it anymore! I gotta sit and watch ‘em all suffer, man! Makoto n’ Mona’re doin’ all they can t’ keep their damn heads straight! For all of us! Haru n’ Boss haven’t said one ‘effin word, Futaba hasn’t left her damn room, n’ I’m pretty sure Yusuke hasn’t eaten shit! Man... If you saw Ann right now, you’d damn well admit she’s an ‘effin mess because of this. Because of  _ him.  _ That goddamn, no good, piece of shit  _ traitor!  _ You mean to tell me that’s  _ okay?!”  _

A clenched fist beats against his own chest as if it’s a drum, pounding at every syllable in the climax of a symphony. If his chest is but a drum, then it’s his voice that’s the set of strings--harmonizing a deep sorrow and suffering to his audience. Collecting his breath, Ryuji passes the metaphorical conductor’s wand over towards Akira, eyeing him with full concentration and attention. 

A quiet sigh. Typical Akira. He wasn’t the most emotionally outright man, but Ryuji learned to take note of the little details: The downcast eyes, the way the light--even here in the lightless void--catches his glasses and makes him glow radiant, the way his hair curled and jostled about in a carefree way. Everything about Akira was so  _ goddamn  _ perfect and it  _ pains  _ to Ryuji to the most unfathomable depths to know that he’ll have to cling onto the thoughts, the  _ memories, _ as if they could fade away at any given second. A calming voice sooths over him, “...And what about you?” 

Him. Him? What about  _ him?  _ Ryuji was numb; a strange stillness overtaking him after that night in Akihabara, he’d noticed. School was pointless, grades were but letters, talking was just a waste of breath and life just felt too still anymore. Meetings at LeBlanc were the only thing that really gave him any spark of life, but even the idea of donning another mask--one of strength and composure--was draining and by the time he’d board the train home those nights, it’d slip, shatter into a tearful breakdown, and he’d spend the next few days carefully constructing a new one for the next meeting. 

“....Me?” Ryuji feels the anger swell with the tears that are running, dashing down his face and across his jawline like the graze of a hand and he swears, just for a moment, that it’s Akira’s slender fingers tracing the bone. “Y-You’re a sick bastard, Akira...” His voice, still raw and vicious, now threatens to crack under the pressure. His breathing grows irregular at the pressure weighing him down. What about him?  _ What about him? _

He’s given up. 

Another cold gust tingles at Ryuji’s fingertips and the edge of his nose. He sniffles and lets his words slip with unusually soft sigh, “...I can’t go on, dude... Not without you.” 

Akira’s brow furrows at the words and it’s the question Ryuji’s been dreading.  _ Why?  _ Not a  _ Why?  _ As in obliviousness or ignorance, but a  _ Why? _ As in the realization that there’s something far deeper that just the current circumstance at hand. To everyone else, a life was stolen too soon. But to Ryuji, a life was stolen  _ and  _ he’s slipped into a rough current of regret and guilt in the same notion, never to reach past the surface and slip deeper and deeper until he finds himself drowning. 

Why has he given up?  _ Because he’s lost Akira.  _

“Goddamn, Akira, because...!” Say it.  _ Say it.  _ “B-Because I love you,  _ goddammit _ ...! There! I said it! I... I  _ fuckin’  _ said it!” The cold numbs his hands against the shadowy-black ground, his voice carrying as far as it will travel in the void. He doesn’t bother to look up from his place below the young, towering man in a subconscious admittance of defeat. There’s no calm voice reaching him, so Ryuji’s sharp, knife-point tone instead continues in it’s place, “Y-Yeah! Fine!  _ Fuck it!   _ I love you! A-And I have since we pretty much met, okay! T-The only guy t’ even bother with m-my goddamn ass, the guy who ‘effin  _ saved my life _ , j-just happened t’ be a handsome, good-lookin’ n’ funny n’ amazin’ guy, alright?!  _ That’s  _ why I can’t do it, man!  _ Goddamn Akechi  _ stole you from us-- _ f-from me! I ain’t  _ ever  _ gonna forgive him, n’--” _

He freezes, partly from another cool gust of wind but even then, Ryuji  _ swears  _ he can feel a fleeting warmth graze his face-- _ his lips.  _ He can’t  _ see  _ Akira, however. The inky-black world grows staticy like an old TV without any reception. He’s numb, but, he  _ likes  _ this numb. It’s more like the tingly feeling when your foot’s asleep, where there’s still  _ life  _ to it. Ryuji wants more of it, he wants to savor the feeling of the soft warmth electrifying the nerves in his body and the tingling the lips of his fingers, his nose and his toes burrowed deep in the thick socks in his shoes. 

“A-Akira...” The static begins to fade as Ryuji moves to touch his face, rough fingers tracing where the warmth lingered seconds before as he scrambles to his feet like a newborn baby deer. He’s face to face with that familiar stoic portrait, but this time, there’s a radiant smile that makes the blonde want to simply  _ melt. _ The so-called delinquent rarely smiled, but when he did, with a perk of his thin lips and glimmering teeth peeking out into the world, it felt radiant and infectious. 

“You’ve always been a handful, Ryuji. So bright, so caring... Don’t lose that.” Ryuji can’t breathe. He’s struggling for the surface, but he can’t find the strength to swim upwards he’s so enamoured. The soft, loving voice continues, “I need you to go back and help the others... That’s what you do. You help guide them to victory, just as you’ve done before.” Ryuji’s heart is thudding hard against his chest, he can hear it pound in his ears, nearly drowning out Akira’s voice. “Ryuji, you’ve been by my side since I first arrived here. You’ve never faltered, never gave up--” Tears blur his vision into a muddled mess of earthy tones, framed with a deep black border, “--I’ve always loved that about you.” 

He can’t hold back. The sob rattles his body like a shattering earthquake. His legs threaten to give out and drop him back to the icy ground below him again, but Ryuji’s stronger than that now. He’s never given up.

But he did--

No. 

_ He didn’t.  _ His drive, his determination, his passion was slowed, but never  _ gone.  _

“I-I...” Ryuji fumbles to gather his words, haphazard and in the moment, but brimming with meaning, “I... miss you, man... I  _ love  _ you.” 

“...I love you too, Ryuji...” 

He feel his body move under it’s own accord, but Akira doesn’t match it. Instead, Ryuji watches as the young man bids a quiet goodbye and tells him to go back to the others. He wants to argue it; he wants to let the moment linger even just a fraction of a second longer, but as Ryuji opens his mouth he a sharp sound that’s neither of their voices shatter the inky black world around them. 

...

His eyes snap open. Akira’s gone. In his place, a squawking crow calls from it’s perch on the corner of the weathered alter.  _ A crow. How ironic.  _ Ryuji shifts and deep, endless eyes gawk at him from the slight distance before the creature flies off with a final, piercing cry. “Goddamn bird...” He mumbles before letting his glance return in front of him. 

Deep shadows stretch across the shrine, the weathered wood and chipping paint basking in the sun’s sinking golden rays. His breath curling in front of him as a few flakes of snow drop from overhead, the clouds moving in to cover the land like a blanket in time for the approaching night. 

Akira’s gone. The figment of his memories letting him rest easy for another night as Ryuji pushes himself to finish the prayer. It’s only been mere days since that dark day, the rest of November rushing past them like a speeding train. He thought he couldn’t carry on, not without Akira taking the helm. He thought he couldn’t carry on with the weight of guilt crushing him, suffocating him. He thought wrong and as he claps his hands, the electricity rushes through his veins with newfound life and purpose, power and determination. 

Akira said not to  _ kill  _ Akechi, but that didn’t mean Ryuji wouldn’t make him pay and that was certainly something the Phantom Thieves would all be on quick agreement with. 

Justice for his leader, but also justice for the one who stole  _ his  _ own heart as well. 

“...I ain’t gonna let you down, Joker... I promise...” 


End file.
